


Day 2 - Napping on the Couch with Fred Weasley

by musicalcrimescene



Series: Harry Potter 12 Days of Christmas [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adorable, Cute, Fluff, Gryffindor Common Room, Idiots in Love, Kiss on the Cheek, Love, Mutual Pining, Nap on the couch, Not Actually Unrequited Love, One Shot, Pining, Reader is tired, Romance, Short One Shot, Unrequited Crush, falling asleep together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:35:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28102542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicalcrimescene/pseuds/musicalcrimescene
Summary: Reader has a long day and just wants to fall asleep. Fred is there to comfort her.
Relationships: Fred Weasley/Reader
Series: Harry Potter 12 Days of Christmas [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055726
Comments: 7
Kudos: 73





	Day 2 - Napping on the Couch with Fred Weasley

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EllaEnchanted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllaEnchanted/gifts).



> Ok, so yesterday wasn't the best day and I realized I was kinda a day ahead of schedule and so I decided to just focus on me and not stress myself out. So now I'm back on track and ready to go! This one is a bit shorter, which is nice for me lol. I'm learning how to reign myself in and not overwhelm myself with one shots that are too long to be writing everyday.
> 
> Here's a cute napping on the couch fic with Fred, suggested by the lovely reader EllaEnchanted. I find the idea adorable and would honestly kill to have a sleepy afternoon nap on the couch with Fred omg.
> 
> Anyway, thank you again! Please leave suggestions for what else you'd like to see either for this holiday series or just in general. Thanks as always, and love you all!

It had not been a good day. In fact, you’re sure it’s been one of the worst days you’ve had in the past few years. Probably not as bad as the day you went to Margaret’s 8th birthday party, but definitely the worst day since then. Which, looking back, you suppose says a lot about how nice your life has been.

But you’re not in the mood to focus on that right now. Now, you’re lying on the comfiest couch in the common room after scaring off the second years already perched there, blanket covering you, chocolate frog half-eaten beside you, and an aura of don’t-you-dare-talk-to-me surrounding you.

Your friends, all of whom know better, are currently sitting on the other side of the common room, surrounding a table filled with homework and we’re-here-if-you-need-us vibes. You appreciate it, but don’t plan on talking to a single other person for the rest of the day. You’ve had enough of that, and it’s only mid-afternoon.

The day started nearly as soon as yesterday ended. Which sounds obvious, but usually a person is asleep as one day shifts to the other, and they usually stay asleep for a good few hours after that. You, on the other hand, did not sleep one bit. There’s a brief moment somewhere between 3am and 4am that you don’t quite remember, and perhaps you drifted off a bit during that time, but by 4:15 you were back to lying in your bed wide awake and wishing you could be doing anything else.

There’s no particular reason you couldn’t fall asleep. Perhaps it was the stress of the following day’s exam, or maybe it was the tea you drank a little later than you probably should have. Then again, it could have just been one of those every-once-in-a-while nights were you simply can’t fall asleep, no matter what you try.

Either way, you were exhausted when it was time to get up and get ready for the day. You figured you were already awake much earlier than usual, and so you allowed yourself five more minutes of closing your eyes before dragging yourself into the shower. Just your luck, that was the moment your body decided to obey and actually fall asleep. Next thing you know, you’re jerking awake and breakfast is over, your first class beginning in seven minutes.

Yelping, you tumbled out of bed and dressed yourself as quickly as you could, skipping a shower, meal, and even the brushing of your teeth. You furiously chew three mints instead as you stuff your bag with your books and scrolls before running out of the common room and towards the classroom.

You arrive just as class starts, awkwardly interrupting McGonagall just as she begins introducing today’s subject. Flushing, you shuffle over to the only available seat right in the front of the classroom. Usually you’re ok with sitting in the front as you quite like transfiguration, but today you could barely keep your eyes open and you know McGonagall noticed. It’s embarrassing enough nearly falling asleep in your favorite professor’s class, but even more so when she calls you out on it in the middle of her lesson.

“Miss McClivert, do try to stay awake for this part. We wouldn’t want you doing poorly on another essay. You flush hot and resist the urge to bury your head in your hands.

This is pretty much how the rest of your classes go, with the exception of arithmancy. That class goes even worse, as the horribleness of the rest of your day caused you to forget about the exam you had. Usually you manage to sneak in some last minute studying between classes or during lunch, but you had nearly fallen asleep in the rest of your classes and spent the entirety of lunch cleaning up the potion you managed to bugger up so incredibly that it exploded over half the classroom, filling the space with an odour fouler than the quidditch gear after a full season of matches.

Snape, as expected, was furious, and demanded you stay through lunch and clean until the room was spotless, no magic allowed. He said it would teach you to think next time before messing up a potion as badly as you did. And, to his credit, he was right. The downright horrific experience was motivation enough to make sure you never screw up so greatly again.

Thus, as you enter the arithmancy classroom and see everyone setting up for said exam, your stomach drops like a weight.

You want to cry, and you nearly do, if not for the wide grin and wave over from Fred Weasley. George usually sits with Lee Jordan in this class, and so you and Fred have taken to sharing a table. Keeping in your tears for now, you shuffle over to your usual table and flop down in the seat, letting your head fall on the table below you. 

Before it can bang against the wood, though, Fred manages to slip his hand between your head and the table so your forehead rests in his palm instead. You grumble a bit under your breath, but appreciate the gesture. Luckily you’re wearing your hair down, so he won’t be able to see the blush that’s covering your cheeks at his touch.

It’s quite inconvenient, really, having a terrible, unrequited crush on Fred. You’re pretty sure you’ve fancied him from day one when he asked you to sit with him, a handsome grin on his handsome mouth and handsome face. Since then it’s been butterflies and giggles and excuses to touch him, even for a moment. 

There have been quite a few moments, though, that make you think maybe your crush isn’t so unrequited. There are the times you glance over at him to see him already staring back at you. There are the moments in which you brush against him or push his hair out of his face or straighten his tie and his face blushes a bright red and he begins to stutter. There was even the time you could have sworn he was looking at your lips instead of the book in front of you as you tried explaining a certain equation the professor had gone over in class. You brushed it off at the time, but since then the thought of kissing Fred Weasley has never left your mind.

Now, after taking a deep breath, you turn your head toward him and give a slight, wobbly smile before letting it drop with a sigh. He gives you a grin in return.

“Rough morning, then?” You simply nod, closing your eyes for the last minute before the exam. Hopefully you won’t fail too badly.

As if reading your mind, Fred says, “Well, I’ll let you copy off of mine, but correct answers aren’t guaranteed.” You chuckle a bit and raise your head as the professor enters, Fred pulling his hand back. Soon after, the exam began.

The test went about as well as you imagined it would have. Question one was more difficult than you were expecting, and so you moved onto question two. Question two made no sense either, but in a completely different way. You could barely read question three, and there were only five questions on the test so you found yourself rightfully screwed. 

For the next hour, you struggled through the arithmancy, taking occasional peaks over at Fred’s paper. His work made enough sense that you could begin all of the questions, but after that he seemed as well off as you. Sighing for probably the hundredth time that day, you blinked away the stress and panic induced tears and tried your best to scribble anything that may remotely resemble arithmancy before turning the exam in. 

The tears were no easier to blink away as you walked out of the classroom, and, to your chagrin, a few of them managed to escape. You wiped them away furiously, but it seemed to do no good. They wouldn’t stop coming and you were much too exhausted to try and do anything about it.

You were in the midst of wiping away more tears when you ran straight into someone as you turned the corner of the hall. You look up, ready to spout out an apology, but the ruthless sneer on their face stopped you in your tracks. There stood Draco Malfoy, cruel bringer of emotional pain, along with his two friends Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, even crueler bringers of emotional - and sometimes physical - pain.

Needless to say, you really weren’t in the mood to deal with them today. Unfortunately for you, they didn’t give you much of a choice.

“Oh, look,” Draco said, looking back to his friends. “The filthy mudblood decided to assault me in the hallway. I’m left with no choice but to teach her a lesson.” You step back, glaring at them as you make an attempt to get away.

“Oh, shut up, Malfoy. I didn’t assault you, I bumped into - no, we bumped into each other. Just leave me alone.” You try to walk around them, hurrying up your pace, but his hand shot out and grabbed you by the arm. His grip was brutally strong and would surely leave bruises. You wince and try to pull away, but he just tugs you closer to him.

“No, no, I’m certain you decided to physically assault me in the hallway when I was just minding my own business. And I would never lie, right guys?” Looking back at his friends once more, Pansy and Blaise nodded along, equally ugly sneers on their faces. You gulp a bit as the blood drains from your face. Well, shit, you think.

Spinning you around, Draco shoves you forward so your back hits the stone wall behind you, head slamming against it. You hiss in pain as you reach to touch the back of your head, but before you can Draco is back in your personal space, gripping your raised hand and pressing it to the wall as well. He steps closer, other hand coming up to your waist.

“You know,” he says, voice low as his eyes drift over you. “You really are quite beautiful, McClivert.” His wicked grin creeps back up on his face as he finally looks you in the eyes. “Too bad you’re a filthy little mudblood. You deserve to die before you will ever deserve to touch me.” 

With that, he brings you forward slightly only to slam you back into the wall. You cry out as he does so, trying to ignore the cackles coming from Pansy and Blaise. It’s difficult, however, when they’re the only other things you can hear besides the blood rushing through your ears. 

You hear Draco say some other cruel words, but process none of them. Instead you allow him to press your now bruised hand against the wall, staring down at your shoes as your hair hangs in your face. You distantly recognize that someone else has appeared, and then Draco’s hand is gone, and then all three of them have disappeared down the hallway. You don’t really process it, though, until another hand reaches out to you, this time gently cupping your cheek.

You jerk up at the touch, eyes wide as you flinch back from their touch. When you see the concerned face of Fred Weasley, however, you let out a shaky sigh and a few more tears before leaning into his hand, body sagging against the wall behind you. He speaks, but you don’t really listen. You’re exhausted, physically, emotionally, and mentally. All you want is to sleep and not wake up for a full year.

You think you might have said this out loud, because next thing you know Fred’s arm is around your shoulder, half supporting your weight, half looking as though he was simply walking with a friend, and you were heading down the hallway towards the common room.

He doesn’t speak on the walk there, and neither do you. You do notice, however, the occasional tightening of his fists or clench in his jaw. When either of those happen, his face usually turns red as a scowl takes over. It never lasts very long, but you hate every time it happens. His is a face that should never have a reason to not be smiling. His face is one that you hate to see as anything but genuinely happy.

When you finally make it to the common room, you see the nicest, comfiest couch by the fireplace and slip out from under Fred’s arm, walking over and staring intensely at the second years until they slunk away. And now, twenty minutes later, here you are.

Once you flopped down on the couch and decided you never wanted to move, Fred trudged up to his dormitory, coming down a few minutes later with a thick blanket and a chocolate frog. After slipping your shoes off - you whisper a quiet “thanks,” not wanting to be ungrateful. He gave you the sweetest smile in return - he then covered you in the blanket that smells like him and placed the chocolate frog in front of you. 

You had just started to open up the packaging when he leaned down in front of you, saying he’d be right back before standing and walking away. You nod, well after he’s already left, and sigh. It feels pathetic how much you already wish he were back and focusing on you again. It’s a Friday, though, and you suppose he has better things to do than comfort the girl he shares a desk with in arithmancy.

You don’t see him until about an hour later. By then your body has finally relented, allowing you to fall into a state of half-asleep, half-awake that wasn’t making you feel any less exhausted but was still significantly better than being fully conscious.

You vaguely notice someone walking up to you and standing there for a moment, but you don’t know who. It isn’t until they crouch in front of you, pushing a piece of hair out of your face that you open your eyes, seeing a blurry Fred in front of you. He has a soft smile and kind eyes and you want to be closer to him, to breath him in. You don’t, though, and instead make a slightly embarrassing noise that alerts him of your consciousness. 

Blinking down at you, he gives a lopsided grin. “Sorry, love, I didn’t mean to wake you.” You shake your head.

“‘S’ok. Wasn’t really asleep.” He gives an understanding smile and starts to move away.

“Well, I’ll leave you to get some rest, then.” Before he can fully stand and walk away, you reach your arm out, grabbing whatever part of him you can. This part ends up being the front of his jumper, the bit with the large “G” knit on it in yellow. He pauses, looking down at you with raised eyebrows.

“No,” you say, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “Can you, um… That is, if you want to… No pressure, or anything, if you’ve stuff to do, it’s just…” Despite not being able to get the words out, he seems to understand what you mean and gives a bright smile.

“Yeah, of course. Here, move over.” You blink in confusion, allowing him to pull you towards the edge of the couch before your eyes go wide at his sudden movement on top of you. He stands, bringing one leg over you and onto the couch behind you before the other one follows. Before you even have time to protest, he’s settling himself down behind you, sinking into the couch cushions. 

You turn your head to look at him in bewilderment, but he just chuckles and brushes your hair out of his face. Your face feels as though it’s on fire as you can feel his chest pressed against your back, his hips against yours, and his leg pushing its way between yours.

You make a small squeaking sound, jerking your head forward so as to avoid meeting his eyes. Instead, you squeeze them shut, trying to pretend that this couch is bigger than it actually is and that no one else in the common room can see you. Based on the giggles and not to quiet whispering from your friends, you severely doubt that. It only worsens when you feel his arm come around your waist and his forehead press against your upper back, right at the base of your neck. You try not to squirm.

“It’s ok, McClivert. Just go to sleep, alright? And let me know if you’re uncomfortable, we can always change positions.” You didn’t think it was possible, but you blush even harder. From the amused lilt to his voice, you suspect he knows exactly how his phrasing sounds. You huff and try to burrow yourself deeper into the couch. You end up just burrowing deeper into him, and though you wish you could complain - about his arrogant assumption that you’d be ok with this, with his lack of asking consent, with the fact that he was right in his assumption and that this has been your secret dream since the beginning of the school year - but your body is too exhausted to even bother.

Before you can count to ten - though it probably would have taken quite a while for you to do so - you drift asleep to the quiet sound of Fred breathing behind you.

**********

It’s dark when you finally wake. After you orient yourself and remember that you fell asleep in the common room, you also notice that it's much more quiet than you’d expect. Looking around, you see that the common room is completely empty and that, outside the windows, you can see nothing. Shit. You were asleep for so long that it grew dark. 

Groaning, you flop your head back down onto your pillow before tensing up, eyes snapping wide open. Earlier when you fell asleep, Fred… you don’t need to turn and look to know if he’s there, but you still slowly turn yourself over so you’re gazing down at the sleeping face of Fred Weasley. 

His cheeks are flushed pink and his mouth is slightly open. You want to scream and squeal and kiss him all at once. Fred Weasley is beautiful. You knew that before today, but now it’s more clear and obvious than ever. 

He remains asleep as you stare down at him, contemplating your situation. With a slow smile, you think that maybe you were right in your hunch that your crush isn’t so one sided.

“Oh, Fred,” you whisper, careful not to wake him. “I hope you know how beautiful you are, you arrogant prat.” You giggle quietly to yourself as you stroke a single finger across this cheekbone and then down his jawline. His arm is still around your waist, and so you don’t have much room to move any further, but you enjoy the little touches you’re able to steal now.

Sighing lightly, you let your hand drop between you as you settle in, trying to get comfortable enough to continue sleeping. After a moment, the thought of kissing Fred still on your mind, you open one eye and glance up at him, making sure he’s still asleep. Quickly and with as much grace as you can muster, you lean up slightly and press a light kiss to his cheek, letting it linger before pulling back with a wide smile. 

You burrow yourself back into the nest you’ve made with Fred, the blanket, and the cushions. You feel more confident than you have all year in regards to Fred and the feelings involved. This definitely isn’t a situation ‘just friends’ would find themselves in, you’re fairly sure of that, and so you think perhaps you’ll suggest a visit to Hogsmeade together in the morning. You slowly drift back to sleep at the thought of such a visit, a smile still on your face.

What you miss is the small smile that blossoms on Fred’s mouth and the slight opening of his eyes as he looks down at you. Raising his hand, he gently brushes your hair away from your face and he gazes down at you, a slight blush on his cheeks.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he whispers, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before wrapping his arm back around your waist, pulling you in closer. Despite being on the old common room couch clearly made for one person, he thinks this is the best sleep he’s ever gotten.


End file.
